Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Have I run out of confessions to tell you wherever you (and I!) are right now? You’re probably getting pretty tired of all my confessing by now. Are you? I know, you’re thinking, “Wow, how can such a prude-y, good girl have so many confession?”
Well, OK, technically, this isn’t really a confession of something I’ve actually done in the real-world. But in my mind, Sweetpea? Oh, I’ve got a truckload of confessions, so pull up a chair, pour yourself a cool one (root beer, I hope…) and just indulge me for a bit, will you?
So you know those scenes in movies and Lifetime TV movies, the ones where two characters are drawn together by a passionate kiss? That kiss is all well and good and passionate and all, but the ones that have always drawn me in are the ones where there’s an obvious undercurrent of tension before said kiss. You don’t know what will happen: They could kiss, or they could stomped away, furious at each other and flinging their hands wildly in the air.
You know, the kind where one of us is babbling on and on about something. I’ll probably be the babbler talking a mile a minute about why this is a mistake, why I’m sorry I even told you and why a relationship between us would never work out.
So here’s a little run-down of how I imagine a conversation of that sort would transpire between us…
Me: So about what I said. I knew it was wrong the second it came out of my mouth.
You try to speak, but I cut you off (I’m referring to your words here, Sweetpea…)
Me: Look, just shut up for a minute and let me say this before I lose my nerve. Or worse, before I say even more stupid things I shouldn’t, things that we know we’ll both regret hearing later.
You open your mouth…
Me: Zip it, Mister. Look, I know I may have said some things, and yes, I now know they were completely wrong and incredibly inappropriate. I know I’m just some stupid girl in your eyes, and I know there’s no way you would ever even feel the same. So, I think it’s a good idea that we just act like the mature adults we are, and forget this ever happened.
You try to speak again
Me: Did I say I was done? Do you see my mouth not moving? Anyway, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to the nearest pub and drink myself into a root-beer stupor, go home and try to regain a sliver of my former dignity.
You: Look, will you just be quiet, already? (You’re giggling…)
Me: No, I’m not done talking. And, I’d appreciate it if you would stop laughing. Just let me walk, err, roll away into the night…I…
You: Oh, for God’s sake, will you just shut up for one minute and stop talking?
****You swoop in for that huge finale of a kiss and I back away, shocked, of course****
Me: Excuse me? Are you crazy? What are you doing?
You: I’m stopping you from saying anything else idiotic. One of us had to do it. And for the record, you’re the crazy one, so just embrace it. It’s sexy on you…
So as of right now, in April 2010, this is how it plays out – well, in my head at least, for now. Oh, and can I request that it be pouring rain during this calamity too? You know, for effect and all. Yeah, I know. I’m not exactly sure what it is, Sweetpea, but I’ve always had this romantic notion of romance in the rain (How many time did I make you watch The Notebook so far…?).
Is it bad to believe in that? Is it bad to want that? Even if it’s only just once? Until we meet…
P.S. Don’t forget, I’m also open to dancing in the rain with you too.
P.P.S. Would it be too creepy if maybe we acted this out someday? Oh, it would be. OK…
[Photos via We Heart It]